


Underhill Under the Mountain

by HobbitWrangler



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Jealousy, Minor Violence, Past Child Abuse, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:59:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HobbitWrangler/pseuds/HobbitWrangler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With no family to call her own Bree Underhill joins the company of Thorin Oakenshield. As she helps to reclaim a homeland, she finds one for herself.<br/>A retelling of the beloved tale of the Dwarves of Erebor, with a little feminine twist.</p><p>[Sorry, guys, this has been abandoned! Couldn't remember where I was going with this. Thanks for all the love!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

South Farthing was home to the most hospitable hobbits. For where there was pipe-weed there was happiness, and thanks to Tobold Hornblower of Longbottom, there was always plenty of pipe-weed. And so, that is where Gandalf the Grey found himself one bright spring morn; speaking with the mistress Bree Underhill, a young hobbit, with hair as red as fire and a temper just as strong.

Bree Underhill worked for the Hornblower's as a traveling merchant, with no family ties she was free to travel her days away. It was difficult being brought up in a household where one wasn't wanted; she left as soon as possible, and took work wherever she could get it.

For the past nine years she traveled to the various nooks and crannies of the beautiful Shire, selling her wagons of pipe-weed to all she saw. Bree enjoyed the work, as it kept food on her table, but she yearned for more.

"That, my young friend, is where I come in," Gandalf explained, expelling a wide ring of smoke from his mouth, a twinkle in his eye. "For I am in need of a burglar."

"I am no burglar Gandalf, and I don't take too kindly to you calling me that. I may be an orphan, but that does not mean I live my life so foolhardy," Bree scowled at her friend. She knew the old wizard meant well, but many in the shire believed her to be a scoundrel, and scorned her for it. Ever since she appeared that April morning in front of the Prancing Pony, wailing like a nazgul, Bree Underhill had been hard to handle. She did not enjoy gardening, or staying put for too long. She loved to climb in the forest around the Brandywine, and read tales of adventures, and creatures, that Gandalf would bring her.

Bree was a hobbit, and she loved every second of it, but she wanted to experience the rest of the world. She wanted to see the great stone halls of the dwarves, and witness the magic of elves. Bree Underhill wanted adventure, and she knew exactly where to get it.

"What exactly do I have to burgle..? Not that I’m agreeing to anything, but for curiosities sake." Bree gazed up at the tall wizard. She always wondered why the wizard had adopted the name grey, and not that of a more exciting color. His personality was so much more vibrant than that of his clothing. It perplexed her deeply.

"I cannot tell, for that would only ruin the surprise." This peaked her interest even more, knowing Gandalf was most definitely up to no good. Bree wanted in. Oh she wanted in badly. "But, it will be an adventure for the ages, my dear hobbit. To lands unseen and forgotten.

"So I must agree to be a thief, without knowing from whom or what I'm stealing?" Gandalf nodded his head. Bree pretended to mull it over, drumming her fingers against her chin. "Alright, I'll do it, but one one condition!" Gandalf clasped his hands together in excitement.

"Fantastic! Meet us at Bag End seven days from now, around supper. Do bring all that necessary of a magnificent adventure my dear Bree, for this will be one you will never forget." With a quick wink Gandalf took up his walking stick, climbed on his horse, and rode off towards Hobbiton. Bree stood stock-still for a few moments. Her heart had begun to race, and she was quite sure she might faint.

"Gandalf!" She called after the wizard, his tall frame turning one last time. "Do you not want to know my condition?" 

"I'm sure whatever it is, can most certainly be dealt with at the time it needs to be!" 

"I do believe I have just made both the worst and best decision of my life," Bree mumbled to herself, settling onto her cart to return, for the last time, to Longbottom.  
Seven days, and a very angry group of Hornblower's later, Bree Underhill found herself outside of the ever glorious Bag End. In her hand she held a small sack containing all of her belongings, a pair of trousers, a couple of tunics, one small knife; and for her friends, multiple bags of pipe-weed. She felt completely unprepared. 

With a bit of trepidation she knocked thrice on the door and prepared to wait. Almost immediately it swung open to reveal a very disheveled Bilbo Baggins. His pipe still hanging from the corner of his mouth, a ring of smoke tickling Bree's nose. Once he noticed who stood in front of him all tension in his face disappeared.

"Oh thank goodness it's you Bree. I had feared it was that dreadful wizard again." Bilbo stepped aside, ushering his old friend in.

"Now what are you doing here in Hobbiton? I thought you weren't meant to be round for another week or so?" Bilbo questioned, taking his guests things from her arms. As was customary Bree stayed at Bag End with Bilbo when she was near enough. Bree enjoyed sleeping outside, but was more than content to allow her old friend to convince her to stay inside by a nice fire every once in a while.

"Gandalf didn't mention it...?"

"Mention what?" Bilbo became tense again. "He mentioned some dreadful adventure to me, but there is no way you could be involved in that." Bilbo hesitated, his eyes locking with Bree's. "Right?"

"Well..." Bree thought for a moment. "I did say I would go with him." Bilbo jumped up from his seat.

"Bree Underhill, anyone and everyone knows that Gandalf the Grey is a trickster. Nothing good can come from him and his adventures!" Bilbo began pacing between their chairs. His feet leaving strange markings in the carpet. Bree watched him, fascinated by the emotions filtering across his face. After a few minutes he stopped, and pointed directly at her face. "I absolutely forbid you to go."

Bree scoffed.

"Bilbo Baggins for all the years you've known me, you must realize that I do not go back on my word, and I most definitely do not allow others to tell me what I can and cannot do!" Bilbo collapsed back into his arm chair with huff.

"All I ask is that you come back," Bilbo stared directly at Bree, a slow smile spreading on his face. "You come back, because I cannot stand for that wizard to take my dearest friend from me."

Bilbo and Bree spent the rest of the afternoon cackling like old ladies around the fire.

Both of the Hobbits were very picky in their acquaintances, for they did not enjoy the prattle of most. From the beginning Bilbo had always been fond of Bree, he enjoyed the way she spoke of the world and how peaceful she seemed amongst the land. But it was mainly their shared hatred of the Sackville-Baggins' that sealed their friendship. Most of the Shire agreed that while they weren't related, there were no two hobbits more alike than Bree Underhill and Bilbo Baggins. For Bree, no matter where she traveled in the Shire, nowhere felt quite so homelike as Bag End.

Just as Bree and Bilbo sat down to enjoy a nice supper, the knocking began. Since Bree was but a guest in his home, Bilbo had trudged to the front door, complaining all the way; and stood shocked as could be when a dwarf sauntered in. Bree almost squealed in delight. He was taller than both the hobbits, and his head was covered in the most intricate of tattoos. His voice gruff, and manner angry. Bree was absolutely delighted to meet him.

"Dwalin, at your service miss," the dwarf bowed, before settling in at the table next to her.

"Bree Underhill at yours, master dwarf," Bree smiled as brilliantly as possible, until the dwarf sighed and returned it. It was more of smirk from the way only half his lip turned upwards, but good enough for Bree. She had read a few books on dwarves and their history. She knew they were a very secretive race, and ones that did not trust easily. Bree wanted to gain this dwarf's acquaintance, and there was no stopping this hobbit.

Bilbo stood near the table, secretly shoveling biscuits into his pockets, as the dwarf attempted to inhale all the food present. He watched as his friend spoke animatedly with the unannounced visitor. Bilbo was not pleased at how excited Bree was, and was about to stop the whole matter from continuing when there was another sharp knock at the door. Both Bree and Dwalin stared up at Bilbo expectantly.

"That'll be the door," Dwalin nodded with his head, fish juices running down his fingers.

Bilbo sighed. He had a feeling this night was about to get worse.


	2. Bag End

Bree was enraptured with the two dwarves seated at the table. Dwalin had become much more agreeable with the arrival of his brother, Balin. Their interests were very singular, but Bree enjoyed their presence just as well. Currently the three were discussing the various types of viol music. The dwarves love for music was enthralling to her, another layer in the secretive race.

Bilbo stood scowling in the doorway. He reminded Bree of a child, pouting because the night wasn't going his way. She knew Bilbo was a very antisocial creature, as was she; but sitting at his table were two live dwarves, full of tales and wisdom. This was a chance she was not willing to let slip through her fingers.

“It is a welcome sight, such a vivacious young lass like yourself. The past few centuries have not been kind to dwarves, but to see such a thriving community in Hobbiton gives me hope for our future.” Balin paused. “While the Shire is not a typical place for a dwarf to be seen, or settle, the food is quite lovely,” Balin turned, giving his thanks to Bilbo. Dwalin grunted in accordance with his brother. It was quiet for the next few moments, a lull in the conversation. Bree opened her mouth to speak, but quickly shut it again as she had no idea what to say. Before she could begin to fret too much, Balin piped up again. “Have you and master Baggins known each other long?”

Bilbo stood taller at the mention of his name. Bree looked at him, her eyes squinting in jest, before turning to answer Balin.

“Bilbo and I have been friends ever since I began working for the Hornblower’s nine years ago, on my twenty sixth birthday. Before then…” She paused, the table beneath her suddenly capturing her interest. Her left hand began to twitch, echoing a slow rhythm on the wooden surface. The past was a subject Bree usually avoided. “I uhm,” her voice cracked. “Spent most of my time wandering from town to town. Taking the odd jobs here and there.” Bree edged her fingernails into her palm. An uncomfortable silence fell on the room. 

Balin opened his mouth to speak, when two loud knocks echoed throughout the tunnels. Before Bilbo could push himself towards the door Bree jumped from her seat, eager to leave the room. She swung open the door to reveal two very young looking dwarves. Bree stumbled backwards, door still in hand.

“Fili,” spoke the blonde, bowing.

“And Kili,” the other nodded. “At your service.”

They bowed in unison, glancing inside the doorway.

Bree was taken aback by how much younger these two were that she didn’t even notice how pleased they seemed with themselves for bowing so insync. She expected all dwarves to be as hard edged as Dwalin and his brother. But these two had an essence of innocence, and the presence of a newborn colt. It made her wonder just what sort of adventure Gandalf had enlisted her in.

“You must be Mistress Baggins?” The dark haired one, Kili, asked. This snapped Bree out of her reverie. A loud snort escaped her mouth at the notion of being married to Bilbo. She began to laugh so hard her chest ached, and her throat spasmed.

“No, no,” she gasped out between chuckles, her arms waving back and forth. Soon Bree had to lean against the door to calm herself. Fili stared at his brother, both at a loss as to why this female hobbit was laughing so hard. They worried she might be suffocating. 

After a few moments Bree finally caught her breath enough to explain to them. “I apologize, but Bilbo is the only Baggins in this home. I’m Bree Underhill, resident merchant and all around embarrassed. Please, do come in.” They all exchanged shy smiles before shuffling inside. Bree was plagued with an intense need to run as far away as possible.

The two dwarves began throwing their packs down by the hanging cloaks near the door.

Bree stood awkwardly near them, her arms folded tightly against her bosom. The dress she wore today was the only one she owned. Customarily she wore dark brown breeches with a tunic and cloak. Comfort over customs. She made sure to change into a more feminine dress around others, to keep a sense of normality in the eyes of her fellow hobbits. But, she was never in the company of others for too long.

“I do believe we’ve made you uncomfortable Mistress Underhill,” Fili spoke, coming to stand in front of her. Bree shook her head, allowing her arms to fall at her side. The dwarf in front of her seemed genuinely worried, it comforted her that it was possible to invoke compassion from a dwarf.

“Nonsense, that was my own fault,” she smiled brightly at him. “But please call me Bree. No one calls me mistress, as I have nothing to be mistress of.” The dwarf nodded, turning back to cleaning his boots. “Your names are so familiar, Fili, Kili, are you two related like Dwalin and Balin?”

Kili’s head shot upwards at the mention of the other dwarves.

“Are they here?” He searched as far as his eyes could see, which from that particular angle was just about nowhere. “Dwalin? Balin?” Kili called out into the doorway. A loud ruckus was heard from the kitchen, and if Bree’s ears were doing her justice, loud complaints from Bilbo. No more than a second did pass before Dwalin came barreling around the corner, an uncustomary smile on his face. It grew even more when Kili and Fili embraced him.

Bree watched the four dwarves reacquaint themselves, their voices growing ever louder in the excitement. After a few moments she felt uneasy watching these intimate friends, and slid back into the kitchen. She found Bilbo sitting on the floor, a broken plate in his hand. 

“Have more arrived?” Bilbo continued to stare at the ground, his voice as pitiful as he looked. Bree smiled, taking the broken plate from her friend’s hand. 

“Yes, two more. I believe they are brothers, Fili and Kili, quite agreeable looking, too.” Bilbo gazed at Bree, his eyebrows furrowing. Bree winked. “Agreeable enough for dwarves, now up you go master Baggins. You have guests to look to.” They walked back to the loud conversation of the dwarves, Bree’s arm tucked securely into his. 

“Excuse me,” Bilbo’s voice was just a squeak. He cleared his throat and started again. “I’m sorry but-,” Bilbo’s eyes fell on where Fili had wiped his boots. A faint red blush crept up his neck, and his fists balled by his side. Bree quickly took her arm from his, as he sauntered forward to stand right in front of the blonde dwarf. “Excuse me, but can you please take your muddy boots off my mother’s prized wooden box!” 

Fili stared down at Bilbo, an amused expression on his face. He stood more than a foot taller than Bilbo’s proud three feet. It was like watching a goat chastise a bear. 

“I do apologize master hobbit,” Fili bent down, his eyes trained on Bree. She had her hand pressed against her mouth, an attempt to keep her amusement hidden. Bilbo was not a very threatening creature. And still, Fili removed his boots from the box, dusting the extra dirt off with his fingers. He carefully set the boots down next to Kili’s, before winking at Bree, and apologizing once again to Bilbo.

Several loud knocks sounded behind them. Bilbo’s whole body hunched forward. Bree patted his shoulder affectionately as he moved past her. His hand hesitated on the round handle, pondering if he could just not open the door. Another loud knock caused him to hurriedly pull it open. There were several loud shouts as multiple bodies fell through the door. Everything was flashes of red, brown, and blue, as bodies untangled and rolled. 

The last to fall, and first to stand was a jolly red haired dwarf the size of Bree’s cart. She noticed him struggling to retain balance, as there were multiple arms and legs in his way, and delicately stepped over the fallen dwarves to grab onto his large hand. One by one Bree helped them to their feet, all nine of them, as there was not enough room for the others to lend a hand. She wondered how they were all able to fit in the foyer.

As she reached the last body her own was feeling quite drained. She had not only walked all morn to get here, but now she was busy lifting dwarves. It was exhausting work for a hobbit, especially one who’s supper had been so unexpectedly interrupted. 

The last dwarf was slow to rise. Bree could not tell if it was because of the weight that had been on his body, or for dramatic effect. For as soon as he lifted his Raven-haired head Bree could not help feeling like his gaze was trying to penetrate her mind. He took her hand with a grunt, his fur coated shoulders rolling backwards as he stood. Bree felt uncomfortably warm.

“Thank you,” Bree’s heart stopped as the deep voice rumbled beside her. She continued to stare at his figure, noticing how much more regal he seemed, even with his hair as mused as it was. This dwarf radiated power, from the tippy top of his head, down to his dark leather boots. He continued to stare at Bree, his expression befuddled. “Does this halfling not speak, Gandalf?” At the mention of his name Gandalf the Grey sauntered into the room, waking Bree from her stupor. She felt as if her mind had been in a fog all night, and immediately turned to respond to the raven-haired dwarf.

“Oh yes, no problem, no problem at all,” Bree said, wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt.The dwarf nodded in acceptance, turning his attention back to Gandalf, whom stepped further in, closing the door behind him. He took a turn about the room, searching each of the faces there, landing last on Bree’s. He smiled warmly down at her. 

Bree felt much more comfortable with him present. Thirteen dwarves was a lot to handle, for anyone. Especially for a three foot three hobbit with a hermit streak.

“Introductions are in order, if I remember correctly the dwarf closest to me is Bifur,”Gandalf gestured to the dwarf with the metal weapon embedded in his forehead, an axe if Bree could see correctly in the dim light. He nodded his head towards the hobbits in greeting. Bilbo moved to stand next to Bree, as he felt overwhelmed with the group surrounding them. Gandalf continued. “Followed by Bofur, Oin, Gloin, Ori, Dori, Nori, Bombur, and it seems you have met Kili, Fili, Dwalin, and Balin.”

“Yes, we have,” Bilbo spoke, his face glowing in agitation. He had in no way expected thirteen dwarves in his home tonight, or ever. Gandalf rolled his eyes before gesturing towards the last un-named dwarf.

“And this, my dear hobbits, is Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of our company.” Bree stopped breathing; she had read that name on many of the scrolls Gandalf had lent her. Thorin Oakenshield was royalty, the heir to throne of Erebor, a son of Durin. As Bree attempted to control her erratic heart, Thorin looked over the two hobbits. A sneer replaced his solemn expression.

“And which one of these hobbits is our burglar, Gandalf?”

“That would be me, Bree Underhill, at your service… my lord.” Bree didn’t know the proper protocol for speaking to an heir, even an exiled one, and felt very anxious to not disappoint. Suddenly everything she had ever read about dwarf customs, and history, seemed to disappear into thin air; she felt utterly helpless. 

If she had done something wrong Thorin’s face did not show it. He stepped closer to her, studying her intensely before turning to Bilbo.

“And this one? What help can two hobbits possibly bring us?” The rest of the company found the statement to be both true and amusing, as they laughed quite hard at the prospect of these two hobbits doing anything useful.

Any admiration Bree had for these dwarvish men vanished immediately. She moved forward with determination self evident in her stride. Gandalf knew what would come next, as he once had been at the receiving end of Bree Underhill’s temper. Most who spent more than five minutes with Bree knew that she was not a creature to be dismissed so brutally. Gandalf did nothing to stop it.

“And how would you know that, Thorin Oakenshield?,” Bree nearly spat his name. The look of surprise on his face was enough to settle the scowl on her reddened face; She turned towards the rest of the dwarves. “As for the lot of you, you have been nothing but inconsiderate of your host since you arrived. This is a respectable home, not a run of the mill inn. You thought you could just stroll in and take what you please, oh hoh no. There will be no more of that, not whilst I’m here.” A somber expression fell upon each of the dwarves faces. They knew an alpha female when they saw one.

Bree turned back to Thorin. “It is a pleasure to have you visiting the Shire, Thorin Oakenshield, but I expect the most pristine of manners from a dwarf of your standing, and your companions.” Thorin bowed slightly in acceptance of her expectations. Bree looked back towards Bilbo, her eyebrows raised, begging him to infuriate her more. He clasped his hands together.

“Well, I expect you’re all starving.” A murmur of agreement spread through the room. “Right, well, first we’ll have to make an acceptable area for eating…” Bilbo began walking back to the kitchen, most of the dwarves following him. After a few moments all had filed out of the foyer but Gandalf, Thorin, and Bree. The wizard turned to his two companions.

“As you will have noticed Thorin, Bree is a very,” He paused for a moment, trying to think of the best way to phrase this. “Strong-willed, yes a strong-willed hobbit. She is an extraordinary merchant and experienced traveler.” Bree smiled gratefully at her friend. She didn’t know many in her life who would vouch for her like that. “Not useless in the least. I promised you a burglar, well here she stands.” 

Bree glanced apprehensively at the dwarf beside her. From the scrolls she read Bree had assumed Thorin Oakenshield to be a hardened warrior but also a fair and honest dwarf; one who had everything stolen from him by a serpent of the north. She felt for him and his people; she knew what loneliness felt like, and yet that was no excuse for this dwarf to ridicule her based on the first three minutes of their meeting. Just because she was small, did not mean she was useless.

“And yet how can we be sure that mistress Underhill will not be a nuisance to us? I have met very few halflings in my time Gandalf, and none have had the skills necessary for this kind of endeavor.” The whole time he spoke Thorin’s eyes were glued to Bree. “I do not mean any disrespect, but I am very cautious to accept help from someone I do not know.”

“I would be able to recommend myself better if I were told what I was to be burglaring,” Bree argued. She did not expect complete trust, just a semblance of respect. 

“But of course,” Gandalf murmured, glancing at Thorin. “You shall be helping us reclaim-” Thorin stopped him. He turned to face Bree entirely, his whole attention on her. The weight of his gaze unnerving.

“We wish to take back our birth-right, Erebor,” Thorin continued. “And for that-” This time it was Bree to interrupt him. She knew the history, and as soon as the first piece of the puzzle had been set out for her she had discovered their true intentions.

“You need the Arkenstone.” Bree searched Thorin’s eyes, but no emotion deceived them. Most would be surprised of her knowledge of the outside world. Hobbits were not adventurous, and assumed to be oblivious; a horrifyingly obtuse stereotype. Bree took a tentative step towards him. “You mean for me to sneak in, past a live dragon, and retrieve the king’s jewel from amongst the largest treasure hoard in the land?” The impossible.

“Yes,” Thorin’s answer was unwavering. The breath Bree didn't realize she had been holding escaped her lips in several shaky exhales.

“You’re insane.” For the tiniest second disappointment appeared in Thorin’s eyes, quickly covered by the impassive stone that was his resting face. Bree pressed her fingers to her temple, she felt a very strong ache coming. She recognized the defiance in his eyes, and the sadness, the emptiness; a mirror image of her own. Bree groaned. “You’re insane, but I will help you. For I am sure I am the only one willing to help you from the looks of it,” Bree paused. Dwarves did not have very many allies these days. But she would not let others prejudices cloud her judgement. “If you can bear to accept my help that is?” The look she gave Thorin made him smile ever so slightly. He knew a female dwarf who had given him the same look for so many years; a look of utter resilience, that no man could ever think of stopping.

“I accept your offer with the most sincere gratitude Mistress Underhill, but I will not lie to you and say I am not wary of your skills.” Bree rolled her eyes. She knew it was not the burglaring he was referring to. Typical male assuming that she could not fend for herself.

“There is no need to be wary master Dwarf. I can take care of myself just fine, you’ll see that for yourself soon enough.”

Thorin and Gandalf watched as the young hobbit strode away, her chin held high. Gandalf noticed the smile in Thorin’s eyes, and knew he had picked the right hobbit. 

After a feast-like meal, filled with song and dance, the company of dwarves, hobbits, and a wizard huddled around the fire. Bilbo sat in the chair furthest from the rest, his eyes drooping ever so slightly. Gandalf relaxed in the corner, his pipe hanging from his mouth, while Bree chatted quietly with those nearest her. Throughout the evening the dwarves had warmed up considerable to the young hobbit. They enjoyed her wit and exuberance; Bombur was particularly enamored by her cooking. 

Thorin had not spoken a word to Bree directly since accepting her employment as burglar. And yet, every few moments he felt his eyes drawn to her. Just now he observed how the light of the fire danced in her curls, creating an aura of light around her plump face. After a few seconds he turned his attention to Gandalf.

“You never did explain to me why we would need two hobbits, Gandalf.” The wizard withdrew his pipe.

“Bilbo and Bree are very close, and I have noticed over the years how they seem to bring the best out in the other. There are no two better hobbits than these, Thorin...” He fiddled with his staff. “I do believe having two burglars will be better than one. You can never be too careful,” and with that Gandalf walked outside, to sit amongst the garden, and stare at the stars.

Thorin turned his attention back to his fellow dwarves. He studied each of their faces, noticing the warmth and happiness the meal had brought them. He feared this would be the last time they all felt so well. Thorin stood then, ready to explain to his company that they would be the only ones returning to Erebor. That Dain, lord of the iron mountains, could not help them. The company’s eyes fell upon their king. Bree slid further back in the chair, bringing her knees to her chest, careful to keep her skirts from falling.

“Dain will not be joining us, nor will any of our other kin. They believe our quest to be an impossible one.” Thorin’s voice was harsh, his tone unforgiving. “But do not let that dissuade you, for I look around me and see the most loyal and skilled warriors a dwarf could hope for.” He did not mention the two hobbits. “I do not believe Erebor will be easily won, if it is won at all. But I give my most sincere thanks for your willingness to follow me on this, our last chance to reclaim our homeland. A leader can ask for nothing more than a loyal, willing heart, and that is what each of you have granted me.” The dwarves were entranced by their leader, his voice had a quality that bent your ears to his will. Even Bilbo had been cured of his drowsiness.

“We are with you Thorin,” Fili stood, his eyes shining brightly at his uncle. Bree had been sitting next to him, and gazed up in wonder at Thorin’s sister’s son. There was so much passion, and confidence in his voice. It made her wonder if this band of thirteen dwarves could really do the impossible. Fili spoke again. “To whatever end.” A vision of death and ruin infiltrated Bree’s mind.The rest of the dwarves were not affected by these grim expectations, and proceeded to corral around the Durin heirs, a chorus of agreement reverberating around the room. Then, everything went still.

Little by little the room began to buzz. Bree stared in wonder as a low, mournful hum encompassed them all. She was seated below both Fili and Balin, which ensured her to be surrounded by the sound. Thorin began to sing.

Bree was momentarily paralyzed by the voice that sprang forth from, so deep and rich, like dark molasses. He had not sung earlier during supper, so she assumed he could not. But, the sound that sprung from deep in his soul, and out into the air, had the most mesmerizing quality. It enchanted her ears like magic as she gazed, open mouthed, at the tall raven-haired dwarf. The somber tale of their dwarvish homeland produced goosebumps along her skin; the tiny hairs on her arm frozen.

Even as each of the other dwarves joined in, her eyes could not be torn from his. The deep blue pools of his iris’ captured her soul, as his song polluted her mind. A warm sensation pooled throughout her body. Bree had never felt such a strong emotional pull like this before. She wasn’t sure how to control it; it terrified her. 

Thorin was barely aware of the song ending, the last lyrics tumbling from his lips. He was captured by the misty blue eyes across the room. His heart gave a sharp tug as her mouth curved into a pleased smile. Her eyes shone against pale skin, a faint blush tinting her rounded cheeks. It felt as if the two were caught in their own bubble. For a moment the world was quiet.

Dwalin clapped his hand onto Thorin’ shoulder, effectively breaking the trance. 

Bree quickly turned her face away from the dwarves. Her hands were shaking, skin flushed. Perhaps she had consumed too much wine. After a few moments she glanced around the room, and locked eyes with a very pale Bilbo. He looked worse than she felt.

“Bilbo?” Bree called out, rising to reach him. The dwarves turned to stare at the master of the house. Bree pushed a few out of her way, coming to stand right in front of her friend. His eyes were downcast and mouth hard. When he did look up at her, Bree couldn’t help but laugh. She had feared him to be ill, but instead it seemed her friend had finally found his courage, or at least some of it. Without a second thought Bilbo marched straight towards Thorin Oakenshield, and demanded that they take him with them.

“As Gandalf said, two hobbits are better than one.” Bilbo stood with his arms crossed, a look of utter determination set on his face. The dwarves all nodded in agreement. Thorin sighed.

“And what changed your mind master Baggins?”

Bilbo’s eyebrows furrowed.. He shot a glance back at Bree, who smiled reassuringly. “I wish to prove you wrong. To show you that we hobbits are worth something.”

“Very well then, but know this, our quest is not something to take lightly. I cannot guarantee your safety, nor will I be responsible for your fate.” Bilbo nodded in acceptance. Bree knew he did not fully understand the risks, as Bilbo knew next to nothing of the plight of dwarves, or the numerous enemies they retained over the years. But, if the company of Thorin Oakenshield could not protect him, she would; to her very last breath. “Balin, have them both sign the contract.” Thorin shot them both a pointed look. “I’ll have no quarrels at the end of this over what you are owed. As for the rest of you, get some sleep.” Thorin watched as his kin moved about the room, grabbing blankets and pillows. After reading, and signing the contract, Bilbo lead them through the tunnels of Bag End, making sure to leave the two best bedrooms for Bree and himself. 

Bree waited in a chair as the dwarves excited. 

Thorin sat back down in the seat closest to the fire; he would not get much sleep tonight, nor for any of the following. 

Bree opened her mouth to speak, but decided against it. There was nothing she could say to the dwarf tonight. After a few moments the crackling of the fire soothed her eyes to close. It seemed she would not make it to a bed tonight. 

No one entered the sitting room the rest of the night. Bilbo assumed Bree had taken her leave before him, and settled into his bed. The rest of the dwarves were asleep a few minutes later, their snores filling the tunnels. 

Thorin was restless. He slouched in his chair, staring deeply into the fire. Sometime in the early hours of the morning he rose, eager to stretch his aching back. As he turned, a flash of red caught his eye. Asleep in the chair across the room was the female hobbit. Her body was shaking, from fear or cold he could not tell. 

With a silent curse he walked across the room. The open window let through a horrid chill, it's path directly above the hobbit. Another long shiver passed through her body. The dress she wore stood no chance against the elements.Thorin grumbled to himself. He hoped she would not be as careless on the road.

After a few moments of inner deliberation he gave in, and as smoothly as possible lifted Bree into his arms. He was almost surprised at how heavy her body was. He had assumed hobbits to be frail beings, free of muscle or substance. It was encouraging.

Thorin carried her across the room, snug against his chest. It reminded him of the times he had done the same with both Fili and Kili. As he carefully set her down on the sofa next to his seat the pads of his fingers grazed the skin of her arms; they were still worryingly cool. With a huff, Thorin Oakenshield shed his fur coat before draping it over Bree's form. He did not sleep at all that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this, but the holidays always make doing anything impossible. But, thank all of you for reading this, and for the kudos! I love you all!  
> Should start posting regularly every Wednesday, possibly twice a week if I get my shit together. Anyway, thanks again to Lauren for the help and onwards!


	3. Bree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Now that the holiday madness is over I should be posting more regularly. Anyway, thank you for reading, and for the encouraging comments! I love you all :3
> 
> Minor Violence, and mentions of past abuse warnings for this chapter.

Bree woke just as the sun began to peak along the horizon. Intense confusion radiated from every pore in her body as she struggled to untangle her limbs from the large fur lined coat. She remembered not of the coat, nor sofa, she lay on. There was no doubt in her mind she had fallen asleep on the chair at the back of the room. _“Perhaps,” she thought, “I moved in the middle of the night to be closer to the fire, and found this coat on the chair and put it to good use.”_ With a swift nod of assurance, Bree removed the coat and strode off to the bathroom.

With the knowledge of an intense journey ahead, she made sure to take extra time reveling in the use of an actual bathroom. Nature was not always kind to one’s bum.

It was not until she heard hushed bickering that Bree exited the small room. Her dress from the night abandoned for more travel appropriate trousers, long sleeve tunic, and cloak. She aimed to be as practical as possible.

The dwarves had been busy for quite a while, cleaning and preparing. While they had been rude at arrival, they would not leave the residence in shambles. By the time Bree entered the kitchen everything had been put back in it’s original place. Dori stood near the stove, his eyes fixated on the brewing tea, as Ori shuffled about, dusting on top of the cabinets and doorway.

“Well, I do believe you will leave Bag End looking better than it has in many years,” both the dwarves startled as the young hobbit entered the room. Ori stared wide eyed at his older brother, a flush on his cheeks.

The dwarves had woken early than the hobbit, Thorin before them, as he had wandered off to find Gandalf. Bofur had been the first to stumble upon her, asleep in the sitting room, their leader’s coat wrapped snuggly about; and before he could think, ran off to drag the others back. All twelve dwarves had stood, staring open mouthed at the sleeping hobbit, until Bree had started to wake. It was then that they scurried off like field mice, to clean, and take their minds off of the moments before. None wished to jump to conclusions, but, no one could deny either that there was something very interesting about the situation. Dwarves and hobbits were very similar in being territorial about their possessions.

“Yes, no one enjoys waking to a messy kitchen,” Dori nudged his younger brother along, as he hastily poured Bree a cup of tea.

Bree took no notice to the uneasiness of the dwarves, taking enjoyment from her warm tea and the view of Bilbo’s garden. Hobbiton was always the most remarkable in the first hours of the day. The angle at which the sun shined upon the rolling landscape gave it a sort of ethereal glow. It was at this time she would always imagine tiny forest sprites delicately dancing across flower petals, and underneath the mushrooms. Morning was a splendid time indeed.

“Ah, I had a feeling I would find you here,” Dwalin’s voice broke Bree’s reverie; she turned to face the surly dwarf. “Thorin has asked me to accompany you to your pony, and to find Master Baggins one as well. We’ll be needing to leave as soon as we can, so hop to it.” Dwalin watched as Bree reached towards the biscuit tin. “No time for your silly meals today, lass.” It seemed sleep did not improve this dwarf's demeanor.

The quick trip to the Green Dragon was quiet, save for the disgruntled noises that came from the dwarf. Bree's fingers itched to slap the sounds from his mouth. There was no need to be so rude, they hadn't even come across any hobbits yet. As they rounded on the inn Dwalin let loose the loudest guffaw yet.

Bree couldn't control herself from balling her right hand into a tight fist, and slamming it against Dwalin's shoulder. The look of surprise on both of their faces were identical, save that Bree felt as if her hand had been broken. It was like punching a wall of iron; she doubted her small frame could survive an attack by the hardened warrior.

"What in the name of Aulë was that for?"

"The noises," Bree stood her ground. There was no need for trepidation now; it had never helped her in the past.

"What noises?"

"The... the grunts and sighs, not to mention your altogether displeased demeanour. The landscape around us cannot be that ghastly." Bree's hands moved wildly as she spoke. "Nor can my presence be so horrid, I've been silent this whole time! I did not force you to come with me."

Both were silent, Dwalin's face contemplative. Bree’s hands fell upon her hips; her stance reminded Dwalin of a mother scolding a child.

"Aye, you did not," and with that Dwalin turned back towards the inn. It appeared that was the best apology she was going to get; they carried on in pleasant silence.

On visits to Hobbiton Bree kept her pony, Aera, in the stable just past the inn. It was a small stable, used to house tools, and a few other animals, owned by the Cotton family; their farmland lay just beyond the Green Dragon. Years ago Bree worked as the family's stable hand in order to save enough money to purchase Aera. It was during those years Bree and Bilbo began their acquaintance.

It took all of twenty minutes to convince old man Cotton to sell his strongest pony, Myrtle, to the companions. He had not taken too kindly to Dwalin, but Bree had always been gentle with his animals, and loyal to his family; exceptions would always be made for those who deserved them. Dwalin was pleasantly surprised at how respected Bree seemed.

The two companions sat side by side, tossing stones into the river adjacent to the inn, the ponies grazing nearby. They were to wait here for the rest of the company.

Just before the stroke of eleven they arrived, astride thirteen long-haired ponies. It was like watching a very hairy circus roll into town.

Dwalin rose as soon as the first dwarf dismounted, moving to speak with his brother, as Bree scanned the party. She counted only thirteen.

"Where is Bilbo? And Gandalf? You can't mean to have left them?" Bree questioned.

"Master Baggins was still asleep when we left, Gandalf promised to deliver our note to him." Thorin handed her a small blanket to place on Aera.The rest of the dwarves continued to distribute the packs. Bree tilted her head upwards, closing her eyes in agitation. She counted to ten, twice.

"Could you not wake him?" She tried her best to keep her voice level and calm. It seemed there was no end to this dwarvish madness.

"We thought it rude," Gloin answered.

Bree shook her head as she swung herself onto Aera. They would not leave Bilbo behind, nor would Bilbo get away with hiding in his hobbit hole; he would go on this adventure whether he liked it or not.

"There's no time to go running off," Thorin stepped into her path. The only way to Bag End was over the bridge, and the stubborn dwarf stood in her way. Bree contemplated running him over. "We'll wait a few minutes more, but I won't have my burglar scurrying away. Not for anyone." Thorin stared into her impassioned gaze, his hand raising to allow Aera a sniff. The traitorous pony nuzzled into his palm.

"Very well," Bree slid off her mount. Thorin was right, she had given him her word, and that meant everything to her. Rescuing Bilbo from his own insecurities was not worth her dignity.

The hobbit joined the rest of the company, taking items from Oin and placing them carefully on Aera and Myrtle. She kept her eyes glued on the bridge, hoping to see her friend scurrying across; It was empty.

"We've got a wager going round ‘bout whether or not master Baggins will show," Kili whispered. They could all sense how anxious the hobbit felt without her friend. The youngest Durin wished to ease her nerves, and earn a few extra coin. A sly smile spread on his face as Bree shoved a small pouch into his hand.

"For Bilbo," her tone was lighter, the gleeful expression of the young dwarf infectious.

The company mounted their saddles, Myrtle attached to Bree; there was no more time to waste.

Balin and Thorin rode at the helm, a map in the elder dwarf's hands, as Bree and Myrtle took up the rear. They passed swiftly from Bywater onto the Great Eastern Road headed towards the Brandywine river. The ponies were nearly at a trot, and with the river forty miles away Balin expected to cross into Breeland sometime in the early morn. A slow start would only delay their quest further, and the lonely mountain was months away.

Bree slouched forward in the saddle, her fingers absentmindedly threading through Aera’s mane. She felt misplaced in this horde of dwarves; suddenly the idea of travelling across lands unknown with thirteen strangers seemed highly illogical.

"Wait!" Bilbo's voice called out. Bree pulled heavily on Aera’s reigns, swinging them towards the sprinting hobbit. "Wait, wait, wait!" The weight on her chest faded; she would not be alone.

Bilbo ran charging past a pair of hobbits, baskets of potatoes in their hands, his arms waving about. He continued to yell until the caravan of dwarves stopped completely. Bree's face was alight with joy; she knew he would come. Bilbo may be a Baggins, but Tookish blood ran just as strongly through his veins. Gandalf appeared a second later, a light brown horse at his side.

"We told you eleven o'clock sharp, did we not, Gandalf?" Thorin questioned, leading his pony to the back of the group. He exhibited a most regal stance, long dark hair billowing in the breeze. The silver streaks around his temple did not give off the appearance of old age, instead as an effect of prolonged stress. Even his pony emanated a sense of regency.

Bree marveled at how well groomed each of the dwarves were. The intricate braids entwined in their hair far surpassed any skill she had with her own tangled strands.

Gandalf helped Bilbo mount Myrtle, and the company set off again, everyone in brighter spirits. The grey wizard’s presence eased their minds.

Kili fumbled with tiny pouches, tossing them about the party, the last thrown to Bree. Only five had bet in favour of the hobbit. Bilbo grumbled in annoyance, until he became pre-occupied worrying about all the amenities forgotten in the safety of his home.

Thorin watched the two hobbits, one frantically digging in his pockets, whilst the other laughed along with his kin. He knew it would not be long before the dwarves were attached to both of them. He hoped harm would not become either of the two, but it was an empty wish.

Bree noticed Thorin's gaze, and nodded in acknowledgement. There seemed to be no animosity in his eyes towards Bilbo, or her, anymore. But, she knew not to expect warmth or friendship; there was no need to become emotionally attached to those she would one day leave.

They passed through Frogmorton and Whitfurrows without incident. The inhabitants uninterested in the group of dwarves, two hobbits, and a wizard. It was spring, and the hobbits were busy tending to their gardens. These were the last towns they would see before Breeland.

Once in the wilderness the dwarves took to trading tales to pass the time. Bilbo would take part occasionally, being an avid storyteller himself. Both Gandalf and Bree felt comfortable listening from the back. Bree knew few songs, and even fewer stories.

Near dusk the caravan stopped in search of a suitable haven for the night. Immediately they turned to Bree for consideration. She was surprised to have her opinions relied upon; it gave her a surge of confidence to be trusted so quickly.

Bree led the company to a small clearing a good ten minutes from the road. The area around the Brandywine was one she knew the best; it was here Bree spent most of her summers. The dwarves were pleased with her choice and eagerly dismounted to search the trees bordering their site.

Bifur and Bofur were in charge of the fire whilst Gloin and Bombur readied the meal. The rest of the company took to their own, searching for suitable areas to place their bed rolls. Bree was thankful the ground was still fairly dry. She and Bilbo chose a spot far enough from the others to feel comfortable, but close enough to the fire as to not freeze.

They ate well that night.

Just as the stars rose in the sky, the dwarves began to play songs of mirth and joy. Bree danced carelessly around the fire. Her arms crossed above her head as long amber curls bounced with each step, laughter flowing from her lips; it was not often she allowed herself to be so free. Soon it was just Balin and Bifur playing the music, the others happily joined the hobbit in dance.

Thorin lounged beside Balin, a smile on his face as he watched his nephews fumble around the fire. They had no grace, or elegance, compared to the hobbits. Most dwarvish men did not dance, unless to impress a possible mate, or when incredibly intoxicated; performing music was preferred, as it was not as taxing.

Bree danced with every dwarf around her, making sure to switch partners multiple times throughout the songs. Most of them were quite abominable, squashing her toes and practically dragging her round the fire. Dwalin turned out to be the lightest on his feet, twirling her about quite effortlessly. She did not remember the last time she had felt this pure a joy.

The song ended, and she hastily sat down next to Balin, accepting a flagon of water from the dwarf.

"Why don't you join me Balin?" Bree gazed up at him. "If you are anything like your brother you shall be a wonderful partner."

"No, no. Someone must play the music. Besides, I'm much too old for you lass," Balin explained with a wink.

Bree leaned back on her elbows, an amused smile on her face. Witnessing how free spirited the dwarves could be was the most insightful experience Bree could have ever imagined. The more time she spent in company with them, the more she began to realize how negatively biased others were toward Dwarves.

Balin blew a single note on his pipe, immediately flowing into another tune; it was faster than the others, and Bree declined all offers to dance in order to allow her heart to slow. She relaxed as Nori and Bombur twirled effortlessly around the fire. Watching the large dwarf pick up the younger was absolutely ridiculous. No one was afraid to embarrass themselves.

Bree glanced at the only dwarf not participating. She noticed his eyes light up watching his friend’s attempts at dancing, actively destroying the stereotype of stone cold dwarves. The hobbit wondered why he would not join them. If there were ever a time for Thorin Oakenshield to let go and be a normal dwarf for a few moments, it was now. She felt as a hobbit it was her prerogative to at least attempt to get this broody dwarf to dance.

"Since Balin won't dance with me, would you do me the honor?" Bree held her hand out to the sitting dwarf. It hung between them as an olive branch of sorts. Bree felt a flush creep up from under her tunic and spread across her cheeks. She began to regret her rash decision until a large, warm, hand curled around her own. Both were slightly rough to the touch, evidence of years of manual labor. Bree was most self conscious about her hands, as they were not as soft and dainty as other females. Thorin took no notice.

"You will have to excuse me if I crush your feet. Durin's folk are not known for their rhythm," Thorin joked. Bree felt her jaw unhinge. She could not believe Thorin had just joked with her, so casually too. He stared at her, confused by her reaction. Neither of them moved, waiting for the other to do, or say, something. “Shall we?" Bree nodded.

Thorin led the hobbit closer to the dancing dwarves, his left hand lowering itself to her waist. She placed the tips of her fingers of her right hand along his fur lined shoulder; they spread casually between the strands, recognizing both the feel and look of the fur; her stomach clenched. This was the coat she had wrapped herself in last night. She felt incredibly uneasy about having used the heir to the throne of Erebor's coat as a common blanket, but vowed to carry on.

The first few steps they took were clumsy and inconsistent. The hands they held clasped away from their bodies were loose and timid. Neither of them wished to lead.  

Thorin glanced down at the hobbit, taking notice of her faltering attention. His fingers around her waist tightened; Bree immediately shifted her gaze to his face.

"Trust me," Thorin's tone was soft, his hold on her gentle. Despite his stern expression, the dwarf treated her with respect, and she felt comfortable in his arms; there were not many she could say the same for.

"Yes," the words barely made it out of her mouth before the dwarf lifted her and placed her feet atop his boots. He tested the position, slowly taking a few steps before readjusting, pulling her body closer to his. Her left hand tightened around his. All at once he leapt into the fast paced jig.

The song was full of collisions, sore feet, and laughter. Each of the couples bumped into the others in avoidance of the fire. Fili and Kili made it their personal goal to run into their uncle as often as possible, to watch Thorin and Bree cling to each other. The female hobbit did not seem to mind how entangled they had become; Thorin’s warmth was a welcome comfort.

Abruptly the tempo slowed into a calmer melody. Most of the dwarves retreated to the edge, encircling the couples that remained. Their attention was focused primarily on their leader and his partner; both of their faces glowed in the moonlight.

Bree beamed at her partner. The slower dance was tranquil, it allowed her to focus on moving with Thorin. They were in no way perfect partners, but their bodies flowed well together. Thorin began to hum along with the melody, the sound vibrating against Bree. She pressed her cheek against his chest, and let her eyes close. Neither felt the need to speak. They knew talking would only cause this friendly moment to burst into flames.

Thorin observed his partner. The lazy smile on her face made him chuckle. She seemed so content curled against him. He spread his fingers against her hip, allowing them to flex and relax. Her skin was warm beneath his fingertips.

The song ended and the partners separated, clapping animatedly towards Balin. Thorin stood close enough behind Bree that the edge of his coat draped over the hobbit’s shoulder. Neither were bothered by the proximity.

They all stood laughing and drinking for a few minutes, a glow upon the camp. Naturally the sound died down, and the company readied for sleep. Thorin and Gandalf offered to take the first watch, Oin and Gloin to relieve them mid way through. Everything was quiet, besides the sounds of nature, and the rustle of the fire.

Bree counted the stars, listening as the snores of her companions escalated. She curled inside her bedroll, wiggling about to find a comfortable position. After a few minutes of no such luck, she sat up, ruffling through her bag in search for her cloak. It was no fur lined coat, but it would do.

The company was well on their way by the time the sun chose to rise. At the bridge both the hobbits had glanced back, but the world had been too dark to be able to watch their homeland fade behind them. Breeland was where Bree had grown, yet every time she returned it felt as if a dark cloud hovered above her, a smog muddling her thoughts.

There was little speech that day among the travelers. Every hobbit they passed sneered at their presence. Bree recognized most of the faces, noticed the whispers passed between neighbors at her expense. She expected nothing less from the hobbits that had bullied her as a child, and thrown her out into the world at the ripe age of fifteen; the all too familiar feelings of self hatred and doubt increased with each moment.

It was in the city of Bree where they stopped that night, to fill their bellies and rest their heads. The beds that awaited them inside the Prancing Pony were the last they would see for some time. Gandalf, Bilbo, and the dwarves spent most of the evening drinking and smoking with the other patrons.

Bree sought instead a quiet night as she wandered through the cobbled streets. Memories of years long passed flooded her thoughts, and darkened her already somber mood.

She stood in front of the red bricked building at the end of the alley, her arms wrapped about her midsection. It had not changed at all, only slightly weathered. Men wandered in and out of the building, the same horrid smile upon each of their sodden faces as they left. Bree wanted nothing more than to bash their skulls into the pavement, just to wipe the smirks away. The women inside deserved more.

“I always knew you’d come crawlin’ back 'ere one day,” A burly man stumbled out of the doorway, his shirt untucked. Bree recognized his face, and voice, but his name alluded her. There were so many men, too many, that she had seen use, and abuse, the women who had taken her in, shown her true kindness. “Once a whore, always a whore.” He spat at her feet,  a black ooze, tobacco. Her left hand instinctively curled around the handle of the blade she kept saddled against her thigh.

“I believe you are mistaken sir, there are no whores here. Only spineless, pot bellied weasels, praying on the less fortunate,” Bree growled. The man took a step towards her, and adrenaline coursed through her veins. He would not harm her; she would not allow him the chance.

“I’ll not have some shire rat,” the man hissed. “Speak to me this way. Know your place, whore.”  

Bree unsheathed her knife, angling it perfectly towards the man’s throat. In the past she had hidden behind the skirts of the maidens the men like this cursed at. She remembered the fear in her friend’s eyes, how they cried, ached. No more; she would rid them of this one nuisance.

He stumbled backwards, surprised by the hobbit’s hostility. It took the stout man only a few seconds to regain his composure, pulling on the ends of his tattered vest. The blade was small, and the hobbit in front of him even smaller; a weak threat.

An elderly hobbit stumbled out of the brothel. He paid no heed to the distressed female, and continued on his merry way. This came as no surprise to Bree. Most assumed hobbits to be gentle, caring folk, with full bellies and hearts of gold. But even the smallest of creatures can attain wickedness and disdain.

“You believe me to be worthless scum, below even the lowliest of men.” Bree’s right hand began to twitch, her heart pounding ruthlessly. It was only because of the woman enduring hell inside that building that she had not been forced into this lifestyle; they had imparted on her the knowledge, and skills, necessary to thrive on her own; she owed them her life. “The women inside those walls are worth ten times the likes of you! It’s the men who forced them into this life, left them for dead, who are dirty, unworthy, bastards. You should be worshiping the floor they walk upon, not sullying their hearts with your greed and lust.” Bree could barely control her body as it shook, every dreadful memory bubbling to the surface. In this man’s face she saw the brothers who had beaten her, the adoptive father who tossed her from his home, the men who broke her surrogate mothers’ souls.

The man moved forward, his hand poised to strike down the hobbit. He had enough of her whining and belittlement.

As soon as he was in striking distance Bree slashed hard, digging the knife into the skin of his protruding belly. The man howled in pain, clutching the bleeding abdomen as he sank to the ground. It was not enough; Bree rammed her foot against his head, again and again and again, until multiple arms dragged her away, sobbing. The knife was extracted from her vice-like grip.

“Let it out,” A low voice whispered. “Just let it out, lass. It’s alright, we’re here, you’re safe.” Bree opened her eyes at the sound of Dwalin’s voice. He held her tight against his chest. She tried to stop the shaking, but to no avail. Instead she clutched onto the dwarf for dear life.  

Dwalin and Thorin had stumbled upon their hobbit just as the seedy man had attempted to attack her. Without missing a beat both the dwarves had sprinted to her defense, weapons drawn. They watched, amazed, as she defended herself skillfully, bringing the large man to the ground in one swift move; It was when the hobbit did not stop that they had dragged her away to the safety of the inn

  
Thorin knew the rage and despair that filled the young hobbit. During their years of exile so many of his fellow dwarves had gone through horrors both mentally and physically. Too many were forced to endure abuse for food; a life he wished upon no one. Afterwards they had helped each other heal, but it seemed like the hobbit never had that type of stability. He watched helplessly as she trembled. Dwalin glanced up at him, and without a word, both the dwarves concluded that they would give their lives for this female; they would help her heal.


	4. Of Wargs and Orcs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's been so long! I just moved to a different country, so writing was put on the back burner for a bit. But, I really should start updating quite regularly! 
> 
> Thank you all for the feedback, and for actually reading this. It makes me so happy:3
> 
>  
> 
> *Of course I only own my OC; all other rights belong to Peter Jackson or The Tolkien Estate.

The days grew longer, and the air colder, as the company passed into the Lone-lands. It had been almost three weeks since they left Bag End, the excitement of the journey souring in their mouths.

Swamps covered the area, forcing them to travel along a path the width of a single dwarf. Mud coated the legs of both the riders and their ponies; the clouds above a dreary grey.

Only Gandalf seemed to be enjoying himself, whistling a tune of his own creation from the front; it was loud enough to cover the grumbling of the dwarves behind him.

Bree was pensive, her upper body resting against Aera’s neck. Riding all day left the hobbit cranky and jaded. Her temple throbbed and bruises bloomed along her inner thighs, caused by the uncomfortable motion of the saddle. She moved within the middle of the company, Fili before her and Bilbo behind. Her mind felt muddled, and slow. All she wanted was sleep, but no rest ever came; every dream decomposed into nightmares.

As a child she had constructed a fortress in her mind to protect herself from pain, but now it held her prisoner. The onslaught of sorrow and guilt flooded the haven; she clawed at the walls until her fingers bled, but the more she fought, the taller they became.

Bilbo stuck to her side like glue, along with Fili and Kili. The four spoke quietly, as to not disturb any of the more disgruntled dwarves. Bree welcomed their distraction with open arms.

They all knew of the attack back in the town of Bree. Dwarves understood sorrow better than most, but the hobbit was almost the complete opposite of a morose dwarf; she did not whine, or shirk her duties. There were no tell tale signs of aggression, nor did she speak of own feelings often. They could not tell how to help her.

Bree noticed how they tiptoed around her, fearful that one wrong move and she would break; it made her want to scream. For such mighty warriors they were extremely unperceptive. Dwalin was the only one who treated her as a person, not some wounded animal.

Bilbo watched his old friend carefully, noticing the dark circles beneath her eyes, and lack of colour in her cheeks. He could not remember the last time a smile reached her eyes. The hobbit hoped this adventure would act as a remedy for Bree, but dwelling too long on the future only left him home sick. In the shire, tea time was minutes away, the thought of warm tea salivating in his mouth. He could almost smell apple crisps rising. But, alas, they had passed all the inns and homes this side of the Weathering hills. There would be no pastries of any kind in the wild.

Both of the hobbits missed home, Bilbo more than Bree. He ached for his books and the shade of his garden. Bree merely ached for the security, and familiarity, of the Shire; she knew what to expect there, the opposite here in the wild. Adventures were not as grand and wondrous as original thought. They were lonely and tiresome. Even surrounded by fourteen others, the two hobbits felt very isolated.

Each night as they set up camp Bree would wander, with Dwalin diligently at her side, foraging for edible fruits and vegetables. There were not many of either here, most of which proved to be deadly. It was only after Bofur nearly poisoned them all with toxic mushrooms that Bree took over. She did not want to seem as useless as she felt.

It was on these small outings that she experienced peace, her mind too occupied with not killing the company to worry about anything else.

Dwalin spoke as they roamed, asking of her health, and telling stories of his past. Occasionally he would hunt, rarely coming across an animal worth the effort. Most days the dwarf just followed the hobbit, carrying her things. They both took great comfort in these small moments, grateful for the other’s presence.

Bree told the dwarf everything, or at least everything she knew to tell. Her mind was hazy at best, and she found it difficult to explain what ailed her. Dwalin understood, and so he continued with his narratives, ever mindful of the hobbit's fluctuating demeanor.

On this particular day the company had stopped early, due to the abundance of dry land, a luxury these past few weeks. Bree nearly cried out when Thorin gave the signal to stop; the ride had been particularly difficult that morning. Even the ponies were exhausted.

Dwalin and Bree set off as soon as the ponies were settled. There was a sizeable amount of foliage and trees surrounding them, hopefully containing a bountiful harvest.

They walked in silence for quite some time, only stopping for Bree to inspect plants. The further they traveled within the small forest, the more the two began to unwind. Being around such a large group of stubborn, easily angered, males caused a great deal of tension in even the most gentle of creatures.

“Is it forbidden to talk of Erebor?” Bree asked, hoping to discover more information about the secretive dwarven stronghold. The last time she heard discussion of it was back in Bag End, and even then only very little. When Dwalin did not immediately reply she lifted her gaze, searching for the tell tale bald head. He stood a few feet away, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I was merely curious, forget I even asked,” her hand waved through the air.

“Don’t apologize, ‘tis a fair question. I know about your home, and upbringing, but you know not of mine.” His arms folded across his body, a steeled expression on his face. The dwarf paced along the murky water’s edge; Bree could almost see the wheels turning in his head.

The two had spoken often of the years following Smaug, but she knew very little about his life in the lonely mountain. She yearned for stories about rambunctious little Dwalin running wild in the vast halls; it was almost impossible to imagine the dwarf as a child. His stern expression on the face of youngling was enough to amuse her for many long days.

“Erebor is unlike anything you could ever imagine. A city carved into the heart of a mountain, with so many passages and halls one could never remember them all; it was a proper home for dwarves.” Dwalin explained the general layout for the hobbit, pinpointing the areas he thought to be the most interesting. “Thorin and I spent most of our free time in the forges, fashioning metals and stone into weapons,” Dwalin plopped down next to the hobbit. His knuckles gently beat against the earth. “We were very oblivious to the workings of the world then...” his voice drifted. He depicted for the hobbit the grandeur of Erebor; what it was like growing up in such a timeless fortress; how he and Thorin always found themselves in trouble, leaving Balin to rescue them from the wrath of many a dwarf.

Bree pulled her knees towards her, folding her body against them. She waited patiently for the dwarf to continue, her imagination running wild picturing not only a young Dwalin, but Thorin too. Would he have been just as broody back then? Or instead jovial, living life as heir to the throne, mastering skills, and wooing the woman of the mountain. She envisioned him strolling through the halls, his rich hair shorter, with a satisfied, almost arrogant, smirk upon his features. Amber curls bounced about as she shook her head, a light blush blossoming upon her cheeks.

“Our fathers always sent guards after us, to ensure we didn’t get into trouble. But, that rarely stopped us. Thorin knew all the secret passages, hidden nooks and crannies, the guards never patrolled.” A rare smile graced the dwarf’s face. To him these memories belonged in another world, to another dwarf. For so long he had longed for that life back. Now he willingly followed Thorin through hell fires and beyond. There was no nobler a life.

“Well, that explains why Kili and Fili are so naturally inclined towards shenanigans. I would have never guessed it came from their uncle.” Bree could not imagine, even in her wildest dreams, Thorin being so unruly. She assumed he had been born with a scowl permanently etched onto his face.

“Oh no lass, Thorin was nowhere near as impish as his sister, Dis. Why, she could sniff out an opportunity for mischief a mile away.” The dwarf shook his head, long lost memories rising from the depths. “Dis had Thror, Thrain, Frerin, and Thorin wrapped around her wee finger. Didn’t take ‘er long to trap both me and Balin too; manipulative little thing she was.”

Bree’s ears perked at the mention of Thorin’s siblings. She knew little to nothing about either of them, besides the snibbits Fili and Kili mentioned. All of which complaints about how protective their mother is of them; how she suffocates them. Dwalin had only told her of Frerin’s death but two weeks ago.

“Why is Dis not with us? Are dwarven women not warriors?” Bree leaned back, her chin resting upon her knees. She wanted to suckle as much information as possible from Dwalin before he forced her back to camp.

“Aye, most often they are not. Females dwales are much too few to be thrown into harms way like this.”

“But, Dis, did she not want to come?” Bree assumed the woman who birthed, and raised, both Fili and Kili would do anything to keep them from harms way; including trek across Middle-Earth.

“Oh, she wanted to. In fact she nearly took Thorin’s head off when he told her he wouldn’t allow her to come.”

Bree frowned. It was one thing for Dis to decide of her own not to come, but to force her to stay, while her sons risked their lives, it left a bitter note on her tongue.

The bushes around them rustled. Dwalin rose to his feet, signalling the end of their retreat. He began to collect her bags, most completely empty. The soil around the swamps too damp to grow anything proper. She had only come across small pockets of elderberries.

Bree arched her back, palms stretching towards the sky. Her eyes slid closed, revelling in her precious last few seconds of peace. Her toes atop the dirt curled and wiggled. She stretched her back one last time, preparing for the tension that gravitated around the others. A peculiar grunt sounded from inside the vegetation.

“Boar!” Dwalin roared. He could only watch as the massive creature charged towards the unsuspecting half-ling.

Bree’s eyes flung open, her body scrambling backwards. The animal tore through the foliage. It’s hooves thumping wildly against the ground; Bree froze. “Move!”

The hobbit dove to the right, her shoulder slamming into the earth. Ignoring the pain she pushed herself upwards, stealing her feet atop the dirt, spinning towards the grunts of the beast. They locked eyes. It was gaining too much distance, too fast. She ripped her knife from her thigh, the animal a moment's breath from her. There was no time left for anything but to hope for the strength to survive.

Dwalin leapt in front of her, his axe slicing through the boars skin. It squealed in anguish, fumbling to the ground beside Bree’s feet. She watched the animal’s body convulse. Guilt clawed at her throat, threatening to suffocate her. The poor creature had only been threatened by their presence. She knelt beside the dying animal, one hand caressing it’s face while the other thrust her knife into it’s skin. The convulsions stopped.

Bree released a shaky breath, rising to her feet. She stared at the knife in her hand, coated in blood, and wiped in against her trousers. Her hands did not shake this time.

Dwalin watched the hobbit. He noted the dazed look in her eyes, the guilt spread across her face like a rash.

“Are you alright?” Dwalin studied her closely. Bree nodded, not trusting her voice. “Best get back then.” The dwarf hefted the boar over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Bree followed silently behind him.

She replayed the attack over and over in her head, cursing her inability to defend herself. The knife would’ve been useless against the boar’s charge. It’s tusks would have impaled her before she even got the chance to strike. The hobbit glanced at Dwalin’s axe, anger boiling in her stomach; why had they not equipped her with a weapon?

As soon as they entered camp all attention turned upon the dead animal. Before they could question the two, Bree stomped forward, demanding to be taught how to defend herself, and be given acceptable means to do so.

No one spoke; the dwarves glanced nervously around themselves. Bree’s hands fell upon her waist as she stared them down. Each dwarf avoided her gaze, except Dwalin. He walked swiftly over to Fili, grabbing the sword from beside him. There was no time for proper training, as they crossed the Weather hills the possibility of an attack rose dramatically. The warrior did not want the hobbit to have to rely solely on the dwarves for protection.

“Here.” Dwalin held out the weapon.

Bree’s small hand wrapped around the hilt, her arm faltering slightly. The dwarf walked around her twice, arranging her hips in a defensive stance.

“Now, when you attack push heavily with your lower body,” he tapped her calves. “Especially from here. You’re far shorter than any enemy we would face, so you’ll need to bring them to your level.” Dwalin stepped backwards, brandishing his own axe. He explained to her the different techniques used in close quarter combat, and the best areas to strike; the limbs, specifically behind an opponent’s legs.

Sweat slid down her neck, and coated her forehead. She stared, wide eyed, at Dwalin. Using her knife was always easy as it was light and swift. The sword in her hand was heavy and powerful. She feared it would hinder her more than anything.

“Lift your sword,” Dwalin nodded at her arm. Bree strained, her shoulder protesting against the weight. Both hands gripped the hilt, lifting the weapon upwards. The dwarves began to murmur amongst themselves.

“I don’t,” her right arm began to shake violently. She groaned, straining to keep the sword steady; it was a losing battle. “I can’t hold it up,” her voice trembling as much as the sword. Bree felt weak; failure wasn’t something she had much experience with. The muscles of her arms threatened to tear, the added weight creating too much tension.

The hobbit cursed under her breath, letting her arms drop. If she couldn’t even hold a sword how was she supposed to defend herself? Sure a surprise attack on a taller, albeit drunk, man was easily accomplished with her small dagger. But, it wouldn’t have protected her from the boar. She needed distance from her opponent.

The company argued amongst themselves, trying to find a lighter weapon for the hobbit. Ori offered her his slingshot, but as he only had one on his person, Bree rejected the offer. Gandalf suggested collecting sharp rocks to throw, and Bilbo reminded her that running away was always a formidable strategy.

The hobbit squeezed her eyes shut, tears of exhaustion welling behind the lids. The voices in the back of her mind echoed words of degradation, her teeth clenching painfully. They were so loud she did not hear the heavy footfalls stop in front of her. It was not until she opened her eyes that Thorin’s form came into view. His lips twitched as the hobbit’s face contorted in surprise.

The dwarf had spoken with her regularly since the night outside the brothel, their conversations friendly and polite. She always ended them briskly, thankful he no longer seemed peeved by her mere presence, but also careful to avoid forcing him into having to hear about her trivial issues. She was just a hobbit after all, a mere blip on the radar of a dwarf lord.

“Try this instead,” Thorin took the sword from her grasp, offering her his bow. Bree weighed it with her hands, the smooth metal pleasant against her palms. She raised an eyebrow at Thorin. He stepped closer, placing the bow in the correct position within her grasp. “Keep your left hand tight around this,” he curled her fingers around the grip, small flutters erupting inside her midsection.

Bree centered her breathing as Thorin positioned her arms, his body shifting to stand behind her.

“Won’t you need this?” She had to twist her neck to stare at him. He shook his head slightly, focused on the position of her shoulders. The hobbit nearly jumped when his hands came into contact with her lower back.

“No, I prefer the use of an axe, or sword. Never been too keen on the use of a bow, too Elvish.” Thorin felt her snicker, her whole body shaking. “With this you will be able to defend yourself from further away,” his breath fanned against her hair, causing a section to fly over her left arm. He gently swept the amber curls back across her shoulder, letting it fall against her back; goosebumps rose upon the skin his fingers grazed.

Bree blamed the breeze for the sensitivity, and turned her focus upon the craftsmanship of the bow. It was smaller than the ones she had seen others use, yet far sturdier and expertly crafted. An intricate pattern twisted elegantly along both the upper and lower limb. Her eyes traced the curves and bends, not thinking about how satisfying Thorin’s hands felt trailing along her skin.

“There, now stay still.” Thorin’s voice caused Bree to glance around them. Her eyes fell upon the makeshift target Dwalin and Fili were constructing. The others members of the company sat dispersed about the campsite. Dori relaxed closest to them, sketching on one of his pads. Her neck strained to peak at the artist’s work. “Stop moving,” Thorin chastised.

“Sorry.” Bree kept her eyes trained on the dwarf as he walked in front of her, assessing his handiwork. The bow was positioned in her left hand, her right hanging unused. He helped arrange her feet one in front of the other, toes threading in the grass.

“Kili, an arrow please,” Thorin asked of his nephew. Not a moment later Kili produced a small quiver full of arrows. The elder dwarf raised just one brow, an amused smirk upon his lips.

“Mum made me bring an extra, just in case,” Kili stated, shoving past his uncle. The two dwarves took position on either side of the hobbit; her cheeks reddened.

“Now, position the bow,” Thorin guided her left hand by lifting the elbow. Once at the acceptable height he dragged his fingers to her shoulder. The hobbit’s heart fluttered like a hummingbird's wings.

She used her peripherals to stare at Thorin as he signed to Kili. The younger dwarf took an arrow from the quiver and placed it in front of Bree.

“Now, make sure you always place the pointy end on the rest,” Kili teased, situating the arrow.

Bree glared at the dwarf. Swiftly she tore the arrow from him, slamming it into the nocking point. She would not let this dwarf treat her like a child.

“Don’t patronize me, Kili,” Bree warned. “I have a very sharp weapon in my hand, and it would be tragic should it accidentally lodge itself through your thick skull.” She raised her eyebrows. Kili immediately lifted his hands, palms forward, above his head. The hobbit rolled her eyes, returning to the matter at hand. She began to take slow, even breaths, stroking the feathers of the arrow absentmindedly.

Dwalin and Fili moved back from the target, as did the other dwarves. They had all been present when Thorin first taught Kili, and knew very well the first shot was the most dangerous.

Bree’s throat ran dry, and her left hand began to cramp. The degrading voices in the back of her head grew louder and louder, pounding in her ears. Thorin’s hand on her shoulder seared through her tunic; sweat dripped onto her nose. Suddenly, the target seemed to triple in distance, triggering a twitch in her right hand; her breath quickened.

“Relax,” Thorin whispered. Bree’s body tensed even more, wound like a spring. Kili glanced at his uncle, moving to help the hobbit. The hand atop her shoulder flew backwards, stopping him. Thorin instead moved behind Bree, placing his hands upon her shoulders, pressing down gently.

Bree swivelled backwards, the arrow falling to the ground.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you, now turn back, and pick up the arrow.” When she didn’t move, Thorin nudged her along. Bree huffed, squatting to extract the arrow. Once she was back in position, Thorin placed his hands upon her shoulders once again. “You need to be calm, ease into it.”

Bree closed her eyes, clearing all thoughts from her mind. The hobbit imagined the Shire; the Brandywine river during spring; watching hatchlings first leaps into flight. In her mind she was sleeping beneath a tall tree, the golden leaves swirling towards the ground; there was a tender spot in her heart for the changing of the seasons.

Thorin felt the tension ease in her shoulders, and moved his hands to her waist, aiming her hips perpendicular to the target.

With a quick shake of her head, Bree reopened her eyes.

“Good,” Thorin gripped her waist tighter, attempting to placate his erratic heart. He couldn’t help but marvel at the muscles that moved powerfully beneath his fingertips. Her waist was not tiny, and curved outwards towards her lower half. The dwarf traced the backs of his knuckles down the curves, resting them against the swell of her hips. He could feel her skin twitch beneath his fingertips. “Now, draw back until the string touches just above your lip.” Thorin reminded her to keep the arm steady.

Bree did as instructed, swallowing heavily when his hands tightened yet again against her. He explained how and where to aim. She took another calming breath, shifting slightly to the left.

“Are you lined up?”

“Yes.” She knew the basics of archery, mainly from years of watching others. It could not be any harder than teaching herself to ride or climb a tree.

“Then, when you’re ready, release,” one of Thorin’s hands skimmed her left shoulder, lowering it slightly.

Bree took one last breath and let go. The feather tickled her upper lip as the arrow propelled through the air. Time seemed to slow as it flew closer, and closer, to the target; it rattled as the arrow impacted an inch from the rim.

“I did it!” Bree clapped her hands together, spinning to face Thorin. His hand left her waist as she turned. “Not too bad for my first try, eh?” She grinned at the dwarf, a mischievous glint highlighting her features.

“Indeed, much better than Kili’s,” Thorin’s eyes twinkled. He watched her smile brighten, a single dimple appearing in her left cheek. The dwarf wondered at the small indent, a brief need to caress it rising in him.

“Fantastic, Kili be a dear and bring me another arrow. I do believe archery befits me quite well.” Bree strutted towards the peeved dwarf. She took no time bracing another arrow.

This time Kili helped her with her stance, mentioning slight adjustments and calculations. It impacted just a few inches from the first.

Thorin’s smile sombered. He turned back to his belongs, his own sword waiting to be sharpened. A small voice in the back of his head protested; he shooed it away like a cows tail to a fly.

“Thorin, wait!”

At the mention of his name the dwarf swivelled about. Bree walked towards him, a soft smile gracing her reddened face. She stopped just in front of him, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“I,” she cleared her throat. “I wanted to thank you,” she avoided his eyes, her hands winding, and unwinding, around her bow.Thorin nodded in acceptance, moving to turn again. Bree’s hand grasped his arm; he froze. “For everything. You’ve been very kind to me and I never properly thanked you.” The hobbit nodded, mostly to herself. “Well, now I have so, there...” Bree mentally punched herself in the face. She knew she must seem like a proper fool.

“It was my pleasure, Mistress Underhill.” No matter how many times the hobbit demanded he call her by her first name Thorin could not bring himself to say it. He could not allow himself to grow too close to her; terrified by how his thoughts already seemed to hover around her. “You are an integral part of this company, and it is in our best interest to keep you safe,” Thorin uttered, his attention falling upon the hand that still rested against his arm. He observed the pale wrist, so slight compared to his own.

Bree noticed his scrutiny and immediately pulled her hand away, ashamed at being so forward. They had touched before, but never initiated by her. She feared it was against some secret dwarven custom to touch so casually without permission. She bowed awkwardly, almost running from the dwarf. Her heart pounded ruthlessly, from what she did not know.

The next few days passed quickly, the hills fading fast towards the horizon. Each evening Bree spent as much time as possible working on her archery. She wanted to be good at something again, and secretly sought to please the dwarves with her skill. Kili helped her whenever asked; she dared not bother Thorin again.

“Oh, Yavanna bless you!” Bree exclaimed towards the sky. She motioned wildly at Kili, pulling his attention towards her arrow lodged directly in the middle of the target. Her feet danced excitedly atop the dirt. It had been so long since such elation had enveloped her; It was almost overwhelming. Her inner fortress walls crumbled ever so slightly, a beam of sunshine breaking through the dreary thoughts.

Gandalf patted her head, bragging about his prowess in picking hobbits. She laughed at the old wizard, rolling her eyes at his ego. The rest of company huddled around her, dwarven cries of victory reverberating in the valley that surrounded them. Her eyes locked with Thorin’s. A small, proud smile graced his lips just before she was whisked away. Dwalin squeezed her tightly against his chest, her feet momentarily hovering above the earth.

Bree smiled gleefully, pleased to see her triumph had drawn a crowd. It was the only time she had gotten so close to the center of the target; she was nowhere near proficient with the bow yet, a long road of practice ahead; the only moving target she had managed to hit so far was a large bird of prey. Her shoulder muscles cramped, and the tangled red strands of her hair pressed hotly against her neck, but for a moment it didn't affect her.

“No one ever cheers when I hit the center," Kili whined. Bree smiled at the dwarf beside her, pinching his slightly stubbled cheeks. He swatted her hands away, ashamed of his lack of facial hair.

"Don't be such a spoil sport. Be proud that your guidance has allowed me to surpass such an accomplished archer as yourself, and so quickly." She swung the quiver across her body, dropping it unceremoniously on the ground. The dwarf saw the revenge this position presented him, and immediately acted upon his impulses.

Bree squealed as Kili attacked her.

He poked ruthlessly along her ribs, causing an eruption of laughter from the hobbit. It was not uncommon for half-lings to have highly sensitive skin. High pitched pleas escaped between howls of laughter, causing Fili to jump upon his brother.

"Do not fear fair maiden, for I shall rid you of this hideous nuisance!" The two Dwarven princes rolled in the grass, struggling to gain the upper hand. Bree straightened her clothing, watching the scene unfold, a warmth enveloping her heart. She envisioned growing up with the dwarves around her, silently wishing she had been born a dwarf rather than hobbit.

Several rabid howls reverberated around them, shattering the gleeful mood. Fili and Kili froze as the remaining dwarves prepared for attack. Dwalin roughly pushed Bree behind him, everyone's eyes darting sharply along the bordering shrubbery, except for Gandalf. The wizard stood calmly next to his horse, pipe in hand.

"What was that?" Bilbo whispered. He peered out from behind Oin.

"Wargs," Gandalf answered. "There is a pack hunting on the north side of the valley, too far to be any real danger." The dwarves visibly relaxed, resheathing their weapons. Bilbo gaped around him wildly.

"Are none of you worried? There is a pack of Wargs hunting not a half day’s jaunt from us!" The hobbit could clearly picture the snarling beasts.They would surely swallow him whole. Wargs and spiders were among those he feared most, behind Orcs, goblins, and every other gruesome creature. "What if they -"

"Oh, Wargs are nothing to be scared of, Master Baggins. It's the Orcs that tame, and ride them, you should be worried about. Slinking into camp with their putrid stench waking you, only to slit your throat before you have a chance to cry out," Kili moved towards the hobbit, his brother close behind. They both drew their hoods over their faces, circling the hobbit, growling. Bilbo shook silently, the howls could still be heard eerily in the distance.

"Wargs would grant you a quick death, but Orcs, they like to play with their kill." Fili bumped into the hobbit, causing a small squeak to escape his mouth. The two dwarves laughed mercilessly at him. Bree moved to admonish the them, but was thwarted by Thorin's voice booming across the camp.

"Enough," Thorin growled at his nephews. "Orcs are no joking matter, that which you both should know." The elder dwarf glared at the two before sulking towards the edge of the camp. His figure blended easily into the shadows.

Fili and Kili shrank towards the fire, their heads bowed in shame. Bilbo followed, assuring them of his indifference towards their teasing.

Bree kept her eyes glued to their leader. She knew not why he had been so harsh with his own kin; her thoughts waged war, arguing over whether or not she should follow him. The cowardice side won; she trudged back towards the others.

"Aye, lads, don't let him get to you. Thorin has need enough to hate Orcs," Balin launched into the Battle of Azanulbizar. The company hovered around him. Even though almost all of them had fought alongside Thorin, the battle forged a strong emotional connection in each of their souls.They lost so many that day, including their king and Thorin’s brother.

Bree wrapped her arms about herself as Balin described both Thrain and Frerin's deaths. An anguish she never knew radiated in her soul as she imagined Bilbo, the closest she had to family, being slain before her eyes. Her gaze flickered towards Thorin, watching as his head tilted backwards, resting against the nearest tree. Her stomach dropped.

“But, watching Thorin wield that oaken log and charge back into battle, I thought, ‘Aye, now there is a dwarf I would follow, there is a dwarf I could call king’,” Balin finished. The dwarves continued to speak for some time, Bilbo hanging onto their every word; a new found regard for the race of dwarves rising inside him.

As stars littered the sky the company moved to sleep. Several of the dwarves pushed their bedrolls closer together, none wanting to be alone that night. The howling of the wargs ensuring that a haze of unease shrouded the group.

"Who will take the first watch with me?" Dwalin asked. Bifur moved to stand with him, everyone else slinking into their bed rolls. It was becoming harder each evening to get a good night’s rest, and most everyone wanted the opportunity to sleep as long as possible.

Bree glanced back towards Thorin, her stomach twisting anxiously. She placed her palm against Bifur's arm.

"I'll do it, get some rest." She smiled as the dwarf bowed slightly, before scurrying to his spot, fearful the hobbit would change her mind.

"Are you sure?" Dwalin questioned. "It can be mighty lonely in the midst of night."

"No, no, It's about time I began to seriously pull my weight around here." Bree shuffled from foot to foot. Something inside her wanted to comfort the brooding dwarf at the edge of camp, her own demons an after thought.

Dwalin narrowed his eyes at the hobbit. _He knew sleep was the one thing she truly loved_ , but did not question her again. She was a grown lady after all, and capable of making her own decisions. He watched as she shuffled slightly towards Thorin, her teeth nibbling on the flesh of lower lip.

"I'll take post here. Find yourself a suitable spot," Dwalin nodded towards Thorin, smirking slightly as the hobbit's face flushed. He turned his back on her, pretending to riffle through his pack. "Off with ye now." The dwarf listened for her steps, noting her direction by the sound. He couldn’t help but shake his head, a small smile on his face. “Durin help them both,” the dwarf snorted.


	5. The Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry, sorry! I know it's been awhile, but I promise I will not abandon this! It may just take a wee bit of time between updates, but I'm going to see this to the end. If you don't feel like checking here to see if I've finally updated you can always follow me on tumblr at either cuddlydragons or writingformeandtheworld. At the second one I'll be posting weekly short stories, revolving around whatever subject I feel like. So, if you're inclined to that sort of thing I'd appreciate your viewership. Alright, I'm done rambling, onward!

Bree situated herself beneath the tree adjacent to Thorin. She waited for the dwarf to grumble about her presence, but no such sound came forth. Instead both were silent, watching as the moon rose higher into the sky, it’s glow encompassing the forest. The sea of stars twinkled against the onyx night, swirling as they painted pictures amongst the heavens.

 

“Have you ever wondered at them?” Her voice was soft, as to not wake the others. She knew Thorin was still awake, as her gaze often drifted to his surly form; his hair swaying with the breeze, the two braids hiding beneath the massive furs.

 

The pure light of the moon reflected brilliantly in his eyes; the colors of the night sky swimming about his pupils. It took her breath away. To the hobbit, Thorin Oakenshield was sharp tongued and sturdy, as if carved from a block of mithril. But this light, it shone upon his softer features, the waves of his hair and curve of his nose. She wondered if his cheeks would be rough as gravel, or soft like her own.

 

“At what?” Thorin turned his attention upon the hobbit, fatigue evident in his voice.

 

“The stars,” Bree gestured towards them. Back in the Shire there were multiple charts of the night sky and it’s constellations. Hobbits prided themselves in making maps of every kind. “I like to think there are giants amongst them, carefully crafting the stars into shapes and figures.”

 

“Hmmm.”

 

“There, right above those old ruins is a shieldmaiden of Rohan.” She strained to keep the dwarf’s attention; He shifted closer to her. “I find it easiest to look for the weapon first. Her sword is that string of four stars, pointing upward.” In the Shire Bree could only see portions of the shieldmaiden throughout the seasons, but here the figure appeared in full.

 

“They are just dots, too many to make sense of,” the dwarf grumbled. He did not understand what the hobbit was seeing. To him stars were a nuisance, their light causing his sensitive dwarf eyes difficulty in falling asleep. He enjoyed the deep dark sanctuary that only mountains could provide. “It seems childish to imagine characters made of stars.” Thorin crossed his arms dismissively; Bree rolled her eyes.

 

“There are many who believe the stars to be souls lifted into the sky after death. To become symbols of hope, and memory.” She watched the blinking lights as one watched an old friend; a tone of longing in her voice. “Constellations are the images of fallen warriors, kings, lovers. Their likeness' forged into the heavens for all to see and remember.” Bree prattled on and on about the legendary figures above them. Taking extra time to point out the dwarven ones.

 

“Is that what you believe?”

 

Bree noticed the change in Thorin’s demeanor; his brows no longer drawn in annoyance. The normal mask of hardened regality gone, replaced by the look of a dwarf carrying the burdens of the world on his shoulders. For the first time she could clearly decipher Thorin’s thoughts.

 

 

“I can barely fathom the magic Gandalf conjures, the thought of becoming a star seems only natural,” her voice soft, fluttering away into the night’s breeze. “But, I don’t foresee my life being important enough to need remembering.”

 

“Surely you do not think so lowly of yourself?” Bree refused to meet his gaze. “Are there no great hobbits in the stars?” She shook her head; Thorin frowned. “And yet there are multiple depictions of elves?”

 

“Hobbits are not normally…” she searched for the word. “Well, we’re not very heroic or grand. There is nothing special about us.”

 

“Nothing special?” Thorin choked out a laugh. “All my long life, I’ve never come across a more unique and prospering people. You Shire-folk are crafty, sneaky little things. Not special? Mahal strike me down if that is not the most preposterous thing you’ve ever said.” Bree’s eyes lit up in surprise.

 

“Why- Master dwarf, I do believe you just complimented me,” she jested. “And Bilbo too. Never thought I’d live to see this day…”

 

“Well-I, you and Master Baggins…” Thorin stumbled over his words, a faint blush hidden beneath his beard.

 

“Thank you,” Bree stopped him, resting her palm along the sleeve of his coat. Her eyes told Thorin everything he needed to know.

 

Thorin felt as if suspended in time. One moment they had only just been discussing the sky above, but now... Now the only stars he saw were the freckles trailing across her cheeks. Their faces were so close he could distinguish each mark, discoloration, even the tiny scar above her left brow. No night sky could compare to the galaxies her eyes beheld.

 

Knowing himself unworthy of the goddess before him, Thorin averted his gaze. In this moment he finally understood what it meant to be blinded by the power of the sun. For he feared if his eyes tarried on Bree for too long he would never see anything but the radiance of her soul.

 

Bree watched the dwarf’s head bow, in what she assumed to be embarrassment for expressing such kindness towards her. The simple motion reminded her so much of both Kili and Fili. At first glance they seemed to only be hardened warriors. Yet, one glimpse of their altruistic hearts and you found their gooey, thoughtful center. No matter how hard each of them tried, the sweetness inside always slipped through.

 

Tentatively, like a mouse leaving it’s hole, Bree placed her hand upon his cheek. She reveled in the sensation of his coarse beard against the skin of her palm; she expected him to admonish her, pull away from her touch.

 

Instead, the dwarf closed his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips as his head tilted closer to her simple caress.

 

The skin below his beard burned against her; every bit of him radiated heat. Slowly, she moved her thumb across his cheek, marvelling at the softness of his skin.

 

Thorin’s heart blossomed, his admiration for the female in front of him transforming into something different, something _more_. As he nuzzled into her small palm, a warmth like fire enveloped him. The hobbits touch like the comfort only home provided..

 

For those brief few moments both the dwarf and hobbit were blissfully content.

 

Bree gently pulled her hand back, watching Thorin as he slowly opened his eyes. The smile that graced his features alarmed her; she had never seen him so relaxed before.

 

“I would apologize for the way I treated you when we first met, Mistress Underhill.” Thorin took her hands into his. “My judgements against you were rash and uncalled for. For that I am truly sorry.”

 

“There is nothing to forgive.” Bree dismissed him. “At first glance I assumed you dwarves to be greedy and wild. But now, I’ve seen first hand the sweetness in your eyes, and the compassion in your hearts. I have never felt so comfortable, and safe, around others before.”

 

“You need not ever be afraid of us.” Thorin squeezed her hands tighter, needing Bree to understand how deeply they cared for her. “I would die a thousand deaths before letting another harm you, in any way. Know that you are treasured here. Your laughter keeps even the most stubborn of us’ spirits lifted.”

 

Bree’s cheeks trembled. It had been so long since another sought to comfort her; to show her tenderness. She fought furiously to keep the tears from falling from her lids.

 

Thorin lifted her hands to his face, pressing his lips gently against her knuckles. The hair of his mustache tickled her sensitive skin. In this moment, he wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and never let go. It was a foreign feeling, but a welcome one.

 

Bree couldn’t help giggling, a deep gurgling sound, as she battled with the flurry of emotions. His beard, his eyes, the way they looked at her as if she was the most important being in the world. It was too much. She drew back her hands, her heart beating so loud she feared the dwarf could hear how much his touch affected her.

 

Subconsciously she shrank from Thorin, unable to comprehend the intimacy surrounding them. A mixture of panic and self preservation swam through her veins; it made her want to run, and never look back.

 

“Y-You should get some rest,” she mumbled, scooting further from Thorin. Her eyes darted back and forth along the ground, avoiding his questioning gaze. “I’m sure my rambling has kept you awake far longer than you wished.”

 

Thorin opened his mouth, but instead of speech a yawn rippled through him. In those last few moments he had forgotten the tiredness that ached deep in his bones. With one last longing glance at the hobbit, he stood.

 

“Your friendship is never a nuisance, not to me,” he uttered, allowing his eyes to trail across her features. “Goodnight, Mistress Underhill.”

 

Bree mumbled something along the same lines, her mind attempting to grasp the whirlwind of emotions swarming her. She felt ill.

 

The company woke to the rumble of thunder; dark clouds swarming in front of the morning sun. Dwarves never moved faster than when under the threat of rain. They were like cats when it came to getting wet; growling and hissing as water seeped into their heavy layers.

 

At first the rain was a welcome comfort to Bree, washing the layers of dirt and grime from her skin. But, as one day slowly turned into four, she yearned for the comfort of a roaring fire, a nice long bath, and a fresh pair of trousers. There was no worse smell than a horde of dwarves soaked to the bones.

 

Low lying branches caught in their cloaks, occasionally tearing the material, as the company trotted through yet another forest. Bree took it upon herself to mend them each night; mainly to keep the dwarves’ moaning to a minimum.  

 

Complaints flooded from each of their lips. If it wasn’t the rain that bothered them, it was Gandalf’s abrupt disappearance. Bree had assumed the wizard would see this quest through. Yet, here they traveled, one companion less. Each day without his presence heightened their unease.

 

Even sweet-natured Ori threw curses towards mother nature and all her brutality. Not a moment did pass that a groan did not break through the irritating pitter-patter of rain drops.Tensions were so thick even the smallest quip launched into a full fledged brawl.

 

Poor Bilbo seemed to be taking the worst of it. He ached so terribly for the simplicities of the shire; his books, the trees, and most importantly the dry, mouth watering meals. It nearly brought the hobbit to tears when he learnt of the condition of the food packs. He would’ve jumped upon Myrtle, and left for good, had Bree not produced the last of her own, slightly dry, rations.

 

She suffered silently. Most days she spent the ride worrying for Aera or Bilbo. However, each time her eyes roamed across Thorin’s figure, the fire he lit in her blossomed. She cursed herself over and over, until the unwarranted feelings simmered. This happened so often that the trivial whining of the dwarves, and Bilbo, did not bother her.

 

It poured so relentlessly most days that Bree could only concentrate upon keeping her body in the saddle. The rain shot at them from all directions; at one point it even seemed to fly from the ground. Her own hair tortured her, wrapping around her face in attempts to both blind and suffocate the hobbit.

 

 _Storms and whining dwarves_ , this Bree thought she could handle. That is, until her body betrayed her the morning of the fifth day.

 

For once it was only slightly drizzling, and yet, Bree felt each drop as a slam of a hammer against her temple. Her lower abdomen reeled; her stomach rolled. More than once during their trek that morn did she jump from Aera to be sick along the side of the road.

 

The pain only seemed to intensify as the day dragged on; by the time they stopped for the night Bree was so exhausted, both mentally and physically, she could only sprawl across the rain soaked grass before falling asleep.

 

Later in the evening when she woke, her abdomen flaming, the hobbit finally noticed the additional wetness between her thighs. A low groan radiated from her core.

 

“Ah, we were beginning to wonder if you’d ever wake,” Oin’s gravely voice brought Bree back to the present. The dwarf sat to her left, his medic supplies resting gently on his lap. “Now, Gloin was able to produce a nice dry wrapping for you.” He handed the hobbit his bag. “It should do quite nicely.”

 

“Wrapping-I ehm, don’t understand how-” Oin cut the hobbit off with a terse glance. She immediately pursed her lips, lowering her gaze.

 

“Gloin noticed the look on your face earlier this morn. Took ‘em until you passed out to recognize it as the same expression his wife makes just every month.” Oin produced a jar out of his bag, perching it on top of her lap. “Take just a bit of that with some water. It should lessen the pain enough.” He shooed the hobbit to her feet, leading her away from their camp.

 

Bree was far too surprised to be embarrassed. The rest of her companions seemed oblivious to her current predicament; Bilbo was the only one to avoid her gaze. With a quick shrug of her shoulders she allowed the grey-haired dwarf to push her down the short path. They stopped at the edge of the trees, a small stream sprouting in front of them.

 

“Just give a shout if you need anythin’ else.” Oin patted her head with one hand and fiddled his hearing instrument with the other. “It’ll be dark soon, so don’t dwaddle for too long.”

 

As soon as Oin was out of view Bree sighed long and hard. It was bad enough her monthly flow had begun, but the fact that Gloin noticed it before she, ridiculous.

 

In the Shire the females monthly visit was a taboo subject. From how casually Oin spoke about it, she had a sneaking assumption dwarves were far less squeamish. It made sense with their females being so rare. There would be no hiding this natural process. In fact, she assumed they would celebrate this time as a sign of fertility.

 

The slimy feeling of discharge made her waddle towards the stream. It took no time at all to rinse the dried blood from her trousers. The wrap was scratchy, but would fare well against the rain. The binding about her bosom already sagged under the daily water-logging; she made a mental note to ask Gloin about any more dry wraps.

 

Night descended on the forest like a fine mist. The leaves scattered amongst the forest floor shuddered under the scurrying of rodents. Owls hooted ominously at their prey.

 

A massive canopy of trees dotted the campsite, winding around each miniature dwarf settlement. Extra tarps and blankets lined the branches nearest the ground. The rain dripped endlessly from the leaves to their makeshift shelters. Every now and then one escaped, plopping on an unsuspecting dwarven head.

 

A small pile of twigs and dry leaves sat unused in the midst of their forts. Gloin and Oin shuffled about it, throwing jabs at each other as they worked. A ring of freshly soaked clothing surrounding them.

 

Teeth chattering like an earthquake, Bilbo huddled as close to the fire as possible. The fine hairs of his feet protested at the proximity. Bilbo cursed the sky, the rain, and the dwarves around him. It was not the last time he would regret joining this adventure.

 

Bree draped her last blanket around her shivering friend. His discomfort gave her something to worry about. A welcome distraction from her own woes. She coerced him into concentrating on the dwarves instead of the damp cold.

 

The biting night air did not bother them, their bodies insulated with the fire of the forge. It was the damp that coated their thick layers, and tangled their hair, that caused the greatest irritation. Watching each dwarf fret over the condition of their braids, and beards, kept both the hobbits amused.

 

The female hobbit’s own hair fared far worse than the dwarves’. Half of her curls lay dry, matted with dirt, whilst the others stood in all directions. Traveling through such dense vegetation caught all sorts of things in her mane. It would not surprise her to find a squirrel or two nesting between the twigs and leaves. Her comb nearly broke in two the last time she attempted to tame it. Now it lay forgotten in the bottom of her bag.

 

Jealously consumed her as the dwarves easily tied back their own strands. Even Thorin relaxed with his tresses secured in a low ponytail. The curses growled in her mind would have scandalised even the most brutish of dwarves.

 

Kili and Fili watched the hobbits, taking notice of Bree’s darkening expression. Kili laughed as she tore multiple leaves from her curls. The brothers barely had to glance at each other before scrambling to her aid. She nearly cried as the two dwarves skillfully picked the foliage from her hair.

 

“You could’ve just asked for help,” Fili teased.

 

“I didn’t think it was proper.” Bree craned to see their faces.

 

Both scowled in her direction, lips pursed, knowing better than to believe her answer. If they had learnt anything about their hobbit, it was that her stubbornness rivaled that of a Longbeard’s.

 

“It’s not the actual braids that’re important. It’s the beads, and clasps, you put in them that matter.” Kili explained; when a dwarf wished to marry another, they would craft a unique bobble or clasp; on it they would inscribe both their names and whatever else desired. After months of courting they would present it, along with other gifts, to their partner.

 

At that point it was a way to prove their hearts belonged to one another. By presenting their love a hand crafted gift to adorn their hair, they were asking for permission to openly combine their lives. It also made it easier for female dwarves to pick out the single males,and vice versa.

 

“Haven’t removed mine since the day my lovely wife picked me,” Gloin boasted. His fingers rolled the silver clasp just below his chin.

 

“Do either of you have a betrothal braid?” Bree questioned the brothers. The flush that immediately sprouted upon each of their cheeks made her giggle.

 

“No, no, we’re much too young to think of marriage,” Fili mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

 

“The dames would laugh us right out of the mountain.” Kili’s hand moved upon his beard. “Most the females my age can actually grow a respectable beard.” Bree patted his cheek.

 

“How old does one have to be to get married, then?” She shifted back around, mainly because the brothers forced her head. A pile of leaves grew in front of her as they worked.  

 

“Well, I’d say at the _earliest_ 95.” Bree yelped as Fili tore the comb through her hair. A good amount of her hair stuck in the bristles.

 

“Oh no. That’s not nearly enough time,” Kili argued. “I’d say it’s more around 120.”

 

Bree’s head yanked backwards at each pass. The two moved quickly, their hands diving under and over the amber strands like a salmon through a river.

 

“Not enough time?” Bree spoke through clenched teeth.

 

“We dwarves only love once, and with our entire being. There is no halfway. Once you fall for someone, that’s it. There’ll never be another.”

 

“What if they don’t love you back?” The thought of such an intense love that you could never recover from seemed too much like a fairytale.

 

For someone to be scorned so badly, and never be capable of love again, she understood. But, to simply only be able to love once, with no chance of redemption. It was like jumping off a cliff and hoping you didn’t hit the rocks below. Too much risk for such a simple reward.

 

“Then you live the rest of your life alone.” The hands upon her head slowed.

 

A lump caught in the back of Bree’s throat. It was at this moment she was glad to not be a dwarf. For the possibility of someone not loving you back was far too high.

 

Her eyes flickered across the fire, resting on Thorin. He was currently situated with only his profile lit by the small flames. His nose scrunched as he spoke with Dwalin. Bree drew back her gaze, letting it land on the embers instead.

 

“At what age do hobbits marry?”

 

Bree’s brows furrowed. She never quite noticed when hobbits got married. It happened so often that she never questioned it.

 

“Well, I’d think anytime after your thirty third birthday would be acceptable.” She looked to Bilbo for confirmation, but he just shrugged his shoulders. He was even more oblivious when it came to the dealings of others.

 

“Surely there must be a handsome hobbit or two vying for your hand, then?”

 

“Hah! No, no, an independent hobbit lass doesn’t get very many invitations for walks or dancing.” Bree couldn’t imagine a single hobbit of the Shire asking for anything but work from her. Why if she didn’t laugh him out of town, the others would. “I’m not respectable enough for the proud hobbits.” Bree puffed out her chest and crossed her eyes. This got her a few chuckles from Bilbo.

 

“But surely a beautiful, skilled lass like yourself should have the pick of the lot?” Balin tossed in his opinion. A resounding confirmation rose from the rest of the dwarves.

 

Like a broken dam their questions flooded the hobbits. Asking of their courting rituals, why Bilbo hadn’t married, and most resoundingly why Bree was not the most eligible bachelorette in the Shire.

 

“Why, she cooks biscuits better than anyone I’ve ever met,” Bombur asserted.

 

The others began to shout out all her other qualities they found endearing. Bree covered her face with her hands. Her cheeks strained from forcing her smile for so long.

 

“There’s not a hobbit in all the Shire worth Bree’s time, nor mine!” Bilbo asserted. His hand snaked on top of hers, squeezing it gently. “We’re perfectly content as we are, aren’t we?”

 

Bree smiled brightly at her friend. Her other hand patted his.

 

“Yes, I’ve got my Baggins and my pony. There’s not much more a girl could ever need.” Kili yanked her hair. “And my grumpy dwarves.” She pinched his cheek, a little harder than necessary.

 

“Aye!” Bifur exclaimed. He shouted something else, gesturing to the rest of the company.

 

Bree didn’t understand a word. She waited for an explanation, but none came. The dwarves far too excited by his sudden outburst.

 

“Do you have any idea what’s happening?” She whispered to Bilbo. He just shrugged his shoulders, who knows. Whatever they were saying had to be about her, as every now and then her name entered the fray.

 

Fili and Kili continued to braid her hair, faster than ever. It felt as if a miniature tornado was positioned just above her head. Bree’s body was pulled this way and that as the two laughed along with their kin.

 

She watched as Bofur shuffled around the campsite, taking things from the others, and speaking animatedly with Thorin. He did not seem thrilled; his customary scowl darkening his features.

 

The other dwarves yelled out at the two of them. Bree did not like where this was going.

 

Fili and Kili pouted at their uncle; even the hobbits clearly understood their whining tone. Thorin sighed, as vulnerable to the ‘puppy dog’ looks his nephews sported as the rest of them.

 

He dropped his head, allowing Bofur to hand him whatever he had been searching for. Smiles lit up the faces of the surrounding dwarves. Thorin trudged towards her.

 

“They’ve-”

 

“Ahem,” Fili coughed at his uncle. Thorin sighed, dropping down beside Bree.

 

“We’ve?” the dwarves smiled. “We’ve decided to each gift you a bead from our hair, to put into yours.” Bree’s eyebrows furrowed, deeper than ever before. She had not expected to marry thirteen dwarves. In fact she was fairly certain that was illegal. “As a way of showing our admiration for you.” Thorin explained.

 

He held the beads out on his palm. She trailed her fingers over each one. Most were silver, adorned with distinctive markings. The symbols of each of the different families carved elegantly across the metals.

 

“I can’t accept this.” Bree shook her head, moving back from Thorin. She didn’t understand why they would do this for her. “These are far too precious to be given to me…”

 

“I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter.” Thorin pulled her back towards him, situating her so he could easily position the adornments into her hair.

 

Bree crossed her arms against her chest, blowing out a puff of air. She would not admit how gentle he was with her strands, _unlike his nephews_. Or the way her body relaxed almost reflexively under his touch. No, she would sit and pout like a child instead.

 

After a few moments she noticed the rest of the dwarves swarm around her. Even Bilbo stood to watch Thorin as he skillfully braided and re-braided sections of her hair.

 

“Are any of them too tight?” Thorin’s voice at her side made Bree nearly jump out of her bones. Whilst she had been too busy talking to herself in her head Thorin had moved quite close to her. Goosebumps rose along the side of her neck.

 

“Ah, ehm, no- I don’t- eh,” Bree stuttered, her voice high and squeaky.  

 

“What was that?” Thorin stared at her, his head tilting slightly, like a large dog confused by fire.

 

“I, uh,” Bree cleared her throat roughly, trying to pretend like that was the source of her problems. “No, the braids are-they’re, just fine.”

 

From what Bree could tell there were multiple small braids strewn intermittently throughout her mane; with one large braid traveling over the top and across the right side of her head. It hit her shoulder as Thorin moved about. The beads jingled as he entwined all of her hair together along her back. It plopped against her when he finished.

 

“Well, how ridiculous do I look?” Bree stood to face them.

 

The brilliant smiles upon each of their faces tugged one from her own lips. She twirled about to give them a better look. They clapped as the braid swung delicately with her body. Moon beams reflected in the specks of silver giving her russet curls a celestial glow.

 

“My, if there were a beard upon your face...” Balin shook his head. He smiled at her as if she were one of his own dwarrow. “There’d be no more perfect picture of a dwarven queen.”

 

Bree’s grin faltered. The dwarves took no notice, swarming closer to her, pointing out their beads in her hair. All of them accounted for, even Thorin. For it was his clasp that held the large braid together.

 

Eventually the excitement simmered and the company dispersed to their own bed rolls. Bilbo curled between Bofur and Ori, greedily taking advantage of their warmth. Whilst Bree chose to sleep a bit closer to Fili and Kili, their snores nowhere near as earth-shaking as the others.

 

It still surprised her how quickly the dwarves fell asleep. No matter how tiring the days journey had been, she always found herself one of the last awake.

 

This night was no different. As the snores of her companions reverberated around her, Bree found herself instead staring at the dancing flames of their dying fire. The tiny licks of orange and red mesmerizing.

 

Even as the moon began it’s decent, the hobbit found no solace. Her mind tinkered, refusing to calm enough for her body to rest. It replayed the events of the day over and over, lingering on the conversation about courting.

 

She had never thought about marriage, or love really, until tonight. What the dwarves said about her being ‘eligible’ or ‘beautiful,’ felt wrong in every way. No, love belonged in the recesses of her mind where her other utterly impossible dreams resided.

 

Her finger tips flittered across the beads in her hair. She recalled the pride in each of the dwarves' eyes. Yet, she did not feel deserving of their love, or friendship. It did not make sense. In her despair the degrading voices slithered forward, always prepared to strike. _They’re lying_ , they whispered, _no one could ever love a nasty little rat like you_.


End file.
